Black Memories
by Looly
Summary: One-shot. Bellatrix Lestrange reflects on her stay in Azkaban and more. If you haven't read OotP, DO NOT read it.


My memory is often praised to be more efficient that others. People say that having a good memory is a blessing. I'd call it a burden.

There is a lot to remember from the period of time I spent there. More to remember than I wish to admit, actually. And then there were those periods of blackness, where everything was still, where I would fade away from all around me. I would sink into my memories, into the few good thoughts I had, and seek refuge in them. Soon, I was living in my memories. There was nowhere else to go but back to the horror that was my reality, and as soon as I experienced such a reality, it gave me even more reason to hide in my dreams.

I remember hearing Rodolphus' screams. Screaming for freedom, screaming for the light, screaming for release, screaming for the Dark Lord to save him. I remember the shame I felt every moment that he screamed. I was too good for that. I was patient and loyal to the Dark Lord. I would wait in here for the rest of my life if I had to. I would wait for thousands of years for him to come, and the whole way, I would not scream. I would not dishonor the Black name. I would not dishonor the Dark Lord. I would not scream.

I remember how confused the Dementors were when they came by me. I have very few good memories... the rest of my life is plagued by horrid memories. They never knew what to do with me. Sucking the rest little happiness I had out of me would drive me to death. I think even they sensed that. The bad memories I have are too vile for me to even want to think about ever again... but the dementers sensed that if they took away the few happiness I had in me, that I would be driven past insanity. I would be driven into a state where my life was but a nightmare, and I was no more than a body that would just twitch and spasm in its place. I'm not sure whether to be thankful for that, or to be cursing my bad luck.

I remember him, too. I remember that vicious smile that was on his lips when he first saw me, being taken into the prison. The Dementors flocked to him, the wonderful smell of happiness drawing them. I expected to suddenly see him drain of all power, but nothing happened. His smile remained on his thin lips, and he continued to stare at me.

I wondered how he did it.

I remember falling asleep every night—being that I was one of the few who could find sleep without having to go through slamming my head against anything in the room—and always feeling watched. The Dementors never did that to me. Only he could. He watched me all the time, and whenever I looked back at him, that same, thin, smug smile was on his face.

There were days when he wouldn't watch me; instead, he would be consumed in reading newspapers, like the Daily Prophet. Usually they would wind up in the trash bin. But he kept one in particular with him at all times—just a scrap, just a torn piece of an article. I saw the pictures. I saw Rodolphus, I saw Rabastan, I saw Crouch, I saw Alice and Frank... Every day, he would spend a moment to look at it. It was a moment of pride for him, a moment that he was able to live in.

The bastard.

When we were growing up, I knew he had more than me. My family had money, we lived in a wealthy house, with wealthy possessions, and lived a life of leisure. He did too. But he always had more than me.

It became clear after our first year at Hogwarts that our friendship didn't exist. I was a Slytherin, he a Gryffindor, and he had his own friends. The three who went everywhere with him, who all had foolish nicknames. I hated them. He deserted me for a bunch of blood traitors... He loved all of them more than he loved me, his friend, his family... I might as well have been his sister.

And there he was, sitting across from me, just a few yards away. But I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted to choke him, to make him feel the pain that I felt the day he sent me away...

'Bella, I have my own friends now.' He had said. 'Stay away from me—stay away from them. James, Remus, and Peter are my friends, and I won't let you mess with them. Goodbye, Bellatrix.'

It was always about them. Whenever I watched them walk together, chatting away about everything, all their thoughts, I remembered the days when he and I did that. Just us. We were friends, too young to care about our petty differences. He wanted a life outside of what he knew his family had planned for him. I knew he was good enough to do it, that he could be a praised and respected follower of the Dark Lord if he chose to become one, but he didn't want that.

While he wanted another life, I yearned for the life he threw away. I wanted to be strong enough, to make my family proud, to be one of the only female Death Eaters to serve the Dark Lord. I wanted to be something other than a trophy wife, like my mother was, like all of the females in my family would soon become. I wanted to do something with my life, to marry a man who I could be with every day, to do the things I loved to do with. I wanted more; he wanted less.

Now I've done it. I've accomplished my goal in life. Should I be killed for that trivial mistake I made in the Ministry, I would die happy. Should I be stricken, beaten, and have such horrid things come to me; I would take them with a smile on my face. I know what I have done. It took me years to accomplish it, but it has been done.

One more death has been added to my name. My hands have claimed one more death—or rather, my wand. And this one more death will make my name famous for years to come, will place me in thousands of books as the witch who could murder the soul that not even the Ministry could place a simple pin point on.

I've murdered my once friend, once family, once rival, once enemy, and the one thing that kept me alive during my stay in Azkaban.

I did it.

Many will say I went crazy during that period in Azkaban. They'll think my black heart has finally taken over my mind, turned me into the ultimate, heartless, cruel murderer that they have constantly read about, who shocked them with the disgusting torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

I didn't drive myself mad. No, it wasn't I. It was him. He drove me insane.

Sirius Black.


End file.
